The Arena
by ziggbot
Summary: Alleyar, a Dunmer raised in Cyrodiil, battles in the Arena with the former Blade. A short story focusing on character interaction. R/R appreciated! (Rated T for violence and language)


He felt the rush of adrenaline seemed to have faded by the time the Akaviri katana slammed against his blue armor. It didn't pierce through, but it damn near knocked every once of wind from him. He fell to the ground, on his side, gritting his teeth. He saw the glint of the sword as it rose up, gripped tightly by it's former-Blade master. He rolled out of the way of the strike, resting on the grating. The chances of his opponent trying to swing at him in this spot were at least lower, as it could easily end up with his sword caught in the rot iron grate.

He forced himself to stand, growling as he did so. This fight had been going on for ages, now. Enough time for the sun to begin to set, when before it had been in the middle of the sky. The crowd looked on in awe and amazement, but almost impatience lingering as well. They were all eager to see who would be winning their bets.

The Blade poised his sword. "Pick up your weapon, Dunmer." he said sternly. "I do not fight unarmed opponents."

Alleyar wiped the remaining blood from his mouth, which had been sitting on his lip and chin since an early strike to the jaw. "I am not unarmed." In that moment, he threw his hand out, a ball of fire careening toward the Blade, who had to struggle to get out of the way. Alleyar, meanwhile, ran to his short sword, kicking it into the air with his foot and catching it in his hand. Had he known that he'd be fighting someone with this much stamina and swordplay skill, he would have relied more on magic from the start. He'd lasted this far with his blade, though. He wasn't about to just leave it there. He made a rush for the Blade, taking a swift swing.

The Blade held up his katana, guarding against the strike. He twisted the two blades, loosing the short sword from Alleyar's hand. The sword stabbed into the ground a few feet away, but before Alleyar could turn to dodge another hit or get his weapon, there was a very sharp pain in his side. The katana slid through a ripped section of armor, coming out the other side of his body. He felt his entire body tense, and he froze mid-turn.

The two of them stood still for a moment, then the Blade shoved the sword in deeper, stepping close enough to grab Alleyar's shoulder and pull him into a one armed hold. Alleyar roared out in pain a the sword shifted, but grew silent as he heard the Blade begin to speak. "You fought admirably," he said.

Alleyar took in a few short and uneven breaths, then wrapping an arm around the Blade, himself. "... A.. As did... you." He smiled, the blood on his teeth showing.

The Imperial started to pull away, but quickly found that he couldn't. Alleyar was holding him too tightly. Alleyar let out one last, slow breath. This is going to hurt just a bit. Suddenly, Fire engulfed the two of them. The Blade shrieked out in horrified pain, struggling free. Alleyar fell to the ground, the flames over his armor quickly going out, and his skin left relatively unscathed by the heat. The Blade remained ablaze, haphazardly trying to paw the fire away.

"You aren't... dead yet?" Alleyar grunted as he lifted his head just barely, looking at the Imperial. "Ugh... Stubborn..." He flopped his head back. He lifted his hand to the sky, summoning the last of his magika forth into a bolt of lightning, which struck the Akaviri katana. The electricity channeled up into the Blade. After one last blood curdling scream, the Blade he fell to the ground, charred to black.

Alleyar held a hand over his wound, lifting the other hand up to signify that he was alive. "The victor of this match, after hours of grizzly battle, is the Hero from the Blue Team!" he heard the announcer shouted out. "Go get some rest, Hero! You've earned it."

"I can't walk, you sod!" Alleyar shouted, then wincing from straining himself. Imperials: All for the talking, much less for the looking.

His blurry vision finally spotted the face of Owyn, the blademaster, who was smirking. "You can't go through one fight without running that mouth, can you?" Alleyar merely scoffed. "Alright, alright. Gladiator! Help me with your kinsman!" After a few seconds, he saw the Blue Team's Gladiator, who's name he still did not know, emerge from the corner of his eye, reaching down and lifting him up by his underarms, while Owyn took hold of his legs.

"Ach!" Alleyar grit his teeth.

"Sorry!" The Gladiator quickly responded as they shuffled back into the Bloodworks. Alleyar rolled his eyes towards the friendliness. There was always something odd about meeting a Dunmer with such a chipper attitude.

They laid him down on the table in the far side of the room, where he could hear the others training. He let out a shout from the stinging as the armor was peeled off, the chest plate removed entirely. "Bloody armor... falling apart..."

"Yeah, it tends to do that when you're in a sword match for a few hours straight." Owyn remarked dryly. Once again, Alleyar rolled his eyes, settling his head to the side as the wound was examined. "Looks pretty bad. Could probably heal it enough that you wouldn't die, but I won't be giving you any matches for a week at least."

The dunmer glanced at Owyn, "Heal? Azura's Star, you know healing?" The tone in his voice was far more worried than grateful.

"No." Owyn furrowed his brow, making a face, "But we have potions. Gladiator." He ordered, and the other Dunmer quickly walked to a near by shelf, "Both bottles."

"Right!" he said as he retrieved the two potions. He scuttled back, handing them over.

The Redguard took the bottles, setting one aside and opening the other. "I can open it, mysel-" Just as he reached for the bottle, Owyn, without warning, poured it directly onto the wound. "Argh!" Alleyar grimaced as he bellowed, falling back against the table. Apparently, the first was to be directly applied to the wound. "You s'wit!"

"Aww, I'm flattered." Owyn smirked, opening the other bottle. "Gotta love those Dunmer swears. Sounds like you're hacking spit even time you get angry, like a cat." Alleyar's nose crinkled in frustration. Owyn opened the other bottle, "Here, three sips." The Gladiator helped prop up Alleyar's head as Owyn poised the bottle at his lips, tipping it to allow a slow flow of liquid. One. Two. Three sips. Then the bottle was pulled away, and Alleyar's head set back down.

The pain was lessened, and it felt like a good chunk of life had returned to his body. He let out a slow sigh, closing his eyes. "How do you feel?" The Gladiator checked.

"I feel less dead, if that's what you're wondering..." the fellow Dunmer tensed his face, sitting up half way. Owyn had already set to putting the bandages over the wound, wrapping them around Alleyar's bare waist to secure them.

"You sure have one sure way to bring in the crowds. They'll be talking about this match for weeks, I reckon." The Gladiator smiled. "It was amazing to watch you fight!"

Alleyar cast a glace to his kinsman. "... I suppose I should take that as flattery." The other nodded, "Very well. Thank you... Tch!" He winced when Owyn tightened the bandages.

The blademaster stood up straight, wiping his hands clean of the left over blood with a cloth. "There, you're patched up as well as I can do. You can sleep in the training room."

"What? Between the Battle Matron who glares at me as if I'm already butchered meat, and the Yellow Team's cow of a champion? I think not. I'll walk home." Alleyar began to pull off the bottom half of the armor, reaching for a spare pair of linen pants.

"If you say so." Owyn tossed his hands up. "But watch what you say about Ysabel. She could be your saving grace one of these days." With that, he turned and left for the training room.

The Gladiator took the discarded armor, tossing it into a barrel. "Could you answer me one thing, Hero?" Alleyar looked over with a raised brow as he tied the waistband of his pants. "What did it feel like? To be laying there, nearly dead, and casting magic? I'm not much of a magic user, myself. I barely know how to throw a fireball."

Alleyar drew his lips back with a small sigh, then contemplated for a moment. "It felt... horrible. I'm not sure how else to describe it. Every inch of my body ached when I cast. The typical 'I'm dying, this is terrible' feeling." With a shrug, he stood up, feeling a bit woozy on his feet, but still able.

The Gladiator looked down in thought, then nodded. "Remind me not to cast magic when I'm nearly dead, then! You looked like a stretched out hunk of leather before those potions. Still kind of do." Alleyar shortly glared at him, to which the Gladiator took no offense. "Well, I have training to do. Your things are where you left them before you went to fight. I'm sure Owyn has your pay ready for you."

As he walked away, Alleyar looked down at his wound. If a retired Blade could do this to him, then he needed to train more. He never knew when he was going to have to fight someone more able-bodied.


End file.
